Portrait of Omai - Sue Purkiss

In recent months, you may have read about a drive to keep in Britain a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds of a young Polynesian man called Omai, or Mai. The portrait, painted in 1776 or thereabouts, carries the massive price tag of fifty million pounds. The owner is unknown: the price, apparently, is in line with market values. It is at present at the National Portrait Gallery. The government blocked an export licence for the painting for some months on the grounds not just of its quality, but also of its historic significance. No British buyer, or consortium of buyers, was able to raise the full price: but it seems that a deal has been brokered with the J Paul Getty Museum in California, whereby the painting will alternate between that museum and the NPG. It's not ideal for a painting to be shipped across the ocean - but perhaps, in a way, it's fitting: because that's exactly what happened to its subject.

Joshua Reynolds' portrait of Omai.

So who was Omai, and why is he such a significant figure? Well, he was a young man in his early twenties, who came from a Polynesian island called Huahine, not far from Tahiti. His father had been killed during ongoing disputes with another island, Bora Bora, and he wanted revenge. We would have known nothing about him had it not been for the fact that in the 1770s, Captain James Cook, highly-skilled navigator and map-maker, was exploring the Pacific. Specifically, he had been tasked by the British Government with mapping the Transit of Venus, an important astronomical event. Observations of this occurence would be highly valuable for future calculations, and needed to be made from a number of sites all over the world - including in the south seas.

Captain James Cook an official portrait from 1777.

Now at this time, little was known about the vast Pacific Ocean or the lands which bordered on it. But Cook had just returned from a voyage to the area, and he and the gentleman botanist, Joseph Banks, who had accompanied him, were the talk of the town because of their thrilling and exotic discoveries. They had spent a good while on the island of Tahiti - or Otaheite, as it was first known to them. Banks in particular had thrown himself into the Tahitian lifestyle with great enthusiasm, taking full advantage of Tahitian society's very different approach to sexual mores in particular. Tahiti seemed to the British sailors like Paradise, with its balmy climate, its lush and beautiful vegetation and seas, and its friendly people. When Cook recived the commission to map the transit, and realised he needed to establish a base in the South Pacific to do so, he knew that Tahiti was the perfect place. And so a second voyage to the south seas was planned.

It was on this second voyage to Tahiti that Cook met Omai. (Omai was the name by which he became known in London: at home he was called Mai, or Mae.) Omai wanted to sail with the British when they set off for home, in the hope of acquiring weapons with which to subdue the Bora-Borans.

Cook himself was not very enthusiastic about the idea. On the first voyage, Cook had agreed to the request of another Tahitian to go with the Europeans when they left: this was Tupia, a skilled navigator and clever individual who knew the islands well and acted as a translator. But on this second voyage, he didn't see the point of taking Omai, who was a pleasant young man but had no particularly useful skills. And perhaps too he foresaw some of the problems that might arise from transplanting Omai from his home to the inconceivably different environment of London.

(Tragically, Tupia and his son had both died without ever reaching Britain: Cook was very careful of the health of his crew, and had taken various measures which successfully combatted the dreaded scourge of scurvy. But when his small fleet stopped at Batavia on the way home for essential repairs and to take on fresh food, they found it to be an unhealthy, disease-ridden place. Not a man had been lost to sickness before they arrived there, but now fever swept through the crew. Many died, including Tupai and his son, and most of the others, including Cook, were weakened by sickness.)

Cook eventually agreed that Omai could come on board. He didn't travel on Cook's ship, The Resolution, but on an accompanying ship, Adventure, commanded by Thomas Furneaux. When he arrived in London, he was taken up enthusiastically by Banks and introduced in society, and quickly became all the rage. London was thrilled by the expoits of Cook and Banks, and by all these exotic new discoveries: it was a thoroughly exciting time when science and art were blossoming, and Banks, young, wealthy and charismatic, (who had not been with Cook on his second voyage), was at the centre of it all. Omai was introduced to the King, George 111 - apparently taking his hand and declaring 'How do, King Tosh!' The King must have been charmed, because he gave Omai an allowance, which enabled him to buy clothes, furniture, a suit of armour and heaven knows what else. And of course, there were the portraits: not only the one by Reynolds, but others, including this one of Omai, Banks and Solander, a fellow botanist and great friend of Banks. Omai must have seemed to a sensation-hungry society like the physical embodiment of the new lands which were being 'discovered': and it couldn't have hurt that he was tall, handsome, and charming.

Omai, Banks and Solander - by William Parry

But he was very young, and not surprisingly, his head was turned by all this attention. The plan had always been for him to be returned home after a few years, and Cook did indeed drop him off back in Polynesia on his third and final voyage to the south seas. According to Vanessa Collingridge, in her informative and entertaining biography of Cook, all did not go well. Cook surmised that Omai would not fit easily back into island life, and so it proved. He showed off his treasures to the islanders, and boasted of his expoits; for their part, they laughed at him and mocked his pretensions, and once he'd given away his newly-acquired riches, they abandonned hime. He hugged Cook when they parted, distraught at having to part from his friends. Cook did his best, had a house built for him and left him with various animals, but it was all to no avail: Omai died two years later - I have not been able to find out in what circumstances.

So what light does this shine on the historic signicance of the portrait? It's not simple, as issues to do with colonialism and empire never are. In an article in The Guardian (7/3/23), Simon Sebag Montefiore writes: 'The figure of Omai... possesses an idealised majesty of the 18th century's "noble savage" combined with a Roman senator's adlocutio dignity amid an idealised Arcadian landscape. Yet Omai's defiant and proud gaze makes him fearlessly himself. In other words, the portrait combines the confidence of Britain on the eve of world power, the majestic dignity of an adventurous Polynesian, the masterpiece of a genius - and the singular thrill of this incandescent meeting of all three.'

Yes, indeed. But I can't help thinking of the young man at the heart of it all. I suppose his experience was rather like that of a modern-day rock-star or footballer, who has to learn how to handle a sudden influx of huge wealth, adulation and fame. Some cope, others don't. Omai didn't. 

And, although Cook respected the indigenous peoples he met - at least to start off with - and sought not to exploit them, he nevertheless left behind unwanted gifts - diseases, animals which he brought with the best of intentions but which had deleterious effects on the native flora and fauna - and so much else that the collision of two such different societies carried with it. Omai's fate can perhaps be seen as a symbol of all that, too: the meeting of indigenous peoples and Europeans has rarely ended well. As, indeed, it didn't for Cook himself: on his third voyage, tired, suffering from ill-health and far from the cool, thoughtful and respectful commander of his first two Pacific voyages, he lost control of a difficult situation and was killed.

Yes - there's a great deal behind the portrait of Omai.

I first became interested in Sir Joseph Banks and Captain Cook when I was researching my children's story about plant-hunting, Jack Fortune and the Search for the Hidden Valley. That period, at the end of the 18th century, is such an interesting one: and Banks was influential in so many ways.

Five Favourite Museums: by Sue Purkiss

Of course, I don't believe in astrology. Our lives ruled by spinning balls of matter light years away? Utter nonsense, of course. But there is one Libran trait that I undeniably have in spades: the ability - no, the compulsion - to see both sides of everything. This means that choosing anything takes ages - a coat, for instance: " Shall I have the teal blue? Or would grey be better? And a flared one or a straight one? Or should I not get either of those, should I...?" It wastes so much time. So I'm experimenting at the moment with choosing according to the first thought that pops into my head.

So when I thought of doing a little round-up of museums-I-have-loved for this month's post, my first instinct was to make a spider chart of all the leading contenders, note down their plus points etc etc. But in the interests of my new policy of under rather than over-thinking, I decided instead just to see which ones floated, all by themselves, to the top of that murky cauldron that is my brain. And here they are.

D H Lawrence's Birthplace, at Eastwood in Nottinghamshire

I think this was what actually started me thinking about museums the other day; somewhere or other I read that the hundredth anniversary of the publication of Sons and Lovers is coming up. I come from a town not far from Eastwood, where Lawrence was born and brought up. It's a mining town, not very pretty: not an easy place. My dad lived in a similar terraced house when he was a child, so I was very interested to go and see what it would have looked like inside. My father was one of six; how could they all have fitted intoi a two-bedroomed house? 

Well, it didn't really answer that question - but it did show what the house would have been like. It was easy to imagine Mrs Morel, trying to keep up her standards with her bits and pieces of Nottingham lace and her framed pictures and the inevitable aspidistra. Easy also to imagine how Lawrence came to feel hemmed in and claustrophobic, so that he would eventually seek out the clear light and wider spaces of Cornwall, Italy and Mexico. If you want to understand Lawrence - and I suspect his time is about to come around again - then Eastwood is a good place to start.


Musee de la Resistance, near Brioude, in the Auvergne

(Sorry for the lack of accents - I don't know how to do them in Blogger.) This is a small,

locally run museum which we visited some years ago while on holiday in the Auvergne. There are other more glamorous resistance museums, but there was something intensely visceral about this one. It was on the first floor, above a garage, maybe, or a shop. On the walls was a handwritten account of the war, and beneath are glass cases crammed with documents from the village - inert pieces of paper which were full of drama: a letter, for instance, from a woman who wrote to the authorities denouncing members of the resistance: after the war, she was shot. There were photographs of men who were captured and deported or shot, and letters - the last words their families had from them. That woman - perhaps her descendants still live in the village, alongside those of the men she sent to their deaths? And she wasn't the only collaborator. A disturbing museum to visit, but again, one that left you with a strong sense of connection to the time and place it commemorated.


Museum of Somerset, Taunton

This is very different: a recently refurbished museum in Taunton Castle, full of marvellous things, including this beautifully carved dead tree. Upstairs there is a turret room with quotes on the walls about Somerset done in exquisite calligraphy, and when I was there a while ago there was an audio visual display as you went up the stairs of the starling murmurations that you can see on the levels in winter. You get a real sense here of the sweep of history and of landscape.

National Portrait Gallery

This is one of my favourite places to go to in London. It's not actually a museum, of course,

but it fulfills some of the functions of one: how else can you get so close to people of the past? Go to one room and you can immerse yourself in the court of Elizabeth 1: to another and there is Thomas More, hero of A Man For All Seasons, villain of Wolf Hall. Gaze at this representation of him with his family, painted by someone who stood in front of him and spoke to him, and see what you think of the man. 

There's so much to see here, and always something different. There's also a fantastic range of postcards which are great for workshops about character.


ss Great Britain

And finally, the beautiful ship, now permanently moored in Bristol. This has been

painstakingly and lovingly restored; when it first arrived it was just a rusty shell, but now as you walk through it you can see clearly the contrast between a first class cabin and what life was like in steerage. The picture shows the galley. An accompanying exhibition space has much more information, and also diaries and letters from passengers, and the chance to dress up as a Victorian. This is a joy of a museum to visit; children love it too, particularly, believe it or not, the cabin with the talking toilet.  

It was after visiting the ship that I wrote my book for children, Emily's Surprising Voyage, about two children from very different backgrounds who meet on board ship as they set sail for Australia. 

So what would you say is your favourite museum? (Or, well, one of them... No pressure!)